


Lethargy

by zanarkand



Series: Waiting [3]
Category: Digimon - All Media Types, Digimon Adventure Zero Two | Digimon Adventure 02
Genre: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mr. Ishida is best dad, POV First Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Taito, Yamachi, alternating pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-21 17:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11949630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanarkand/pseuds/zanarkand
Summary: A collection of random, out of chronological order scenes from the "in-between time" of chapter 18 and the epilogue in my ficWaiting.These will make absolutely no sense without having read the other two fic in the series.





	1. Scene #1

**Author's Note:**

> As promised at the end of _Waiting_ , these will be the few scenes I have written for the "in-between time." The scenes will be posted in the order that I wrote them, _not_ the order that they fall chronologically in the timeline. Therefore, I'll try to note briefly where each scene falls. So far, each scene is somewhere in the range of 950-1200 words, but that may change later if/when I write more scenes. I'll also note whose POV the scene is in, because they're not properly alternating like _Waiting_.
> 
> Oh, also, all my notes for this series are located [here](https://lunaticxpandora.livejournal.com/tag/notes), for anyone curious. The one that's the summary of the in-between time is probably the only one of any real interest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Yamato's POV**
> 
> Set roughly a week after he leaves the mental hospital, in which he spent four and a half months. (timeline date: sunday 14 august 2005)

I spent a lot of time that first week out of the psychiatric hospital thinking about Natsuko. When I hadn't been able to face thinking about Kenji, or Sento, or Ken, or any of my other family and friends, she was often what popped up in my mind. I didn't even know why, but I couldn't seem to get her out of my head. I holed up in my room frequently because of it, and I knew it worried Dad, because he was constantly coming in to check on me and ask how I was doing, but I couldn't be annoyed with him for it anymore. The last time I had holed up in my room, I had been so depressed I'd stopped eating and did nothing but sleep. I knew Dad was terrified I was going to slip back into that state.

And I had to admit, some days it was still tempting to. 

Today, however, I'd ventured out in the living room. Dad was home, because he'd taken the first two weeks of my release as vacation time so he could be here with me. I didn't say anything when I first wandered in, just snuggled comfortably down into the couch cushions and watched some television with Dad for awhile. I couldn't tell you what the show was about, as I found it impossible to focus on. I was too busy trying to figure out why Natsuko had stayed in the hospital after I'd been stabbed, when I knew she didn't care about me. Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer, and during a commercial break I took my chance. 

"When I first woke up in the hospital, you know, after..." I began hesitantly, gripping the arm of the couch tightly. 

Dad looked at me in faint curiosity as he muted the television, but he said nothing, waiting for me to speak. He rarely pushed me to talk anymore, beyond seeing if I wanted to. I appreciated immensely that he was letting me speak at my own pace about things now, and it made me more willing to be open with him, and tell him things I might have otherwise kept secret for fear of worrying or upsetting him. 

"Natsuko was there." 

"She was," Dad said evenly. 

“Was that just for Takeru?” I wanted to believe that, to keep telling myself that she didn’t care... most of me did still believe it. But I'd also had a lot of time to dwell on it while _in_ the psychiatric hospital, and even though it had been months now, I still couldn’t help remembering the way she’d looked when I’d flipped out that night after Taichi had told me about Kenji. That she’d been crying. For me. 

Dad sighed heavily. “I know you think she doesn’t care, Yamato. But she does. She was devastated when I called to tell her you were in the hospital with a stab wound again, and it was serious. She left work immediately, only stopping at her apartment long enough to get Takeru before coming down to the hospital. If it had been just for him, she would have taken her time, brought him when she was ready, and then left him with me. But she didn’t. She stayed. For you.” 

I fell silent, digesting Dad’s words. I’d spent so much of my life being angry at her, being upset that she didn’t fight for me when I chose to go with Dad, that she didn’t make enough of an effort to stay connected with me once our family was split. Dad had told me before that I was the one refusing to talk on the phone with her. I couldn’t remember that. I was too little. But I could remember other times here and there, times when she’d try hesitantly to speak to me, and I’d ignore her, or turn away after a cruel remark. And Dad had said he'd regularly kept her updated on my life. I'd always thought she'd been pretending to care, but he was right, it _was_ a lot of effort go to for something to fake. 

Was I wrong after all? Was _I_ the one that had turned our relationship almost non-existent? I didn’t know what to think anymore. 

“Why didn’t she come visit me in, you know, the hospital in Tokyo...? You were always the one to bring Takeru.” 

It was Dad’s turn to sound hesitant. “Well, you weren’t talking... And you fought the staff a lot at first. They were reluctant to do anything that might set you off more, so I told her it was probably better if she didn’t come to visit.” 

“But after? When I started talking?” 

“You weren’t really talking much other than to say “hi” and that you were okay. I did discuss it with your psychologist, but she said she wouldn’t recommend it, because it might cause you to stop talking again. She said we could discuss your mom visiting if you brought it up, but you never did. Natsuko asked about you every week though. I kept her updated on your progress.” 

“So she knows I’ve been home for a week now?” 

“She does. She already asked if she could at least talk to you on the phone. I told her I’d wait a couple of weeks and see if you said anything, and bring it up with you if you didn’t.” Dad smiled at me, a small one. “But you did.” 

“I... I don’t know. If–If I want to, or...” 

“You don’t have to decide now. Just think about it. Maybe talk about it at your next appointment if you need to.” 

“Maybe,” I muttered. I still wasn’t thrilled about having to go back to the hospital in Tokyo every week for appointments. I didn’t _like_ talking about all that had happened. But I'd spent too much time not talking, and I couldn't deny that having someone neutral to sort things out with was helpful. Perhaps I _would_ talk about Natsuko at my next appointment. Maybe there was still hope for a relationship with my mom after all.


	2. Scene #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Yamato's POV**
> 
> Set somewhere between the second and third week of Yamato's stay in the mental hospital. (timeline date: friday 29 april 2005)

“Hey ,Yamato,” Taichi greeted me with a hopeful smile. Beside him, Ratsuii lifted his hand in a little wave, a small smile also on his face.

Ny wasn’t with them again, even though I knew he had permission to be. I wondered if that meant he hated me after all. I couldn’t really blame him. It was my fault that Kenji had... 

They took seats in the two armchairs across from the sofa I was seated in. At least the visitor’s room was nice. There were plenty of windows to let natural light in, and the seating was plush and comfortable enough that I often struggled not to fall asleep in it. It somehow made it easier to bear that their wasted trip to visit me was spent in a relaxing room. 

“Still not talking?” Taichi asked once we were settled, the smile slipping a bit. 

I shrugged. I wished he wouldn’t come. I didn’t want him to see me here, like this, and I knew it upset him to do so. But it just took too much effort to talk—even the thought of it felt exhausting. And it didn't seem fair, for me to be able to talk, when Kenji never— 

“School doesn’t have much longer,” Ratsuii remarked. He always carried on conversations like normal, no matter if I talked or not. They’d come twice now. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Taichi joined in with him. “Yeah, everyone’s starting to panic, there’s just a few weeks left and no one feels ready for exams. They’ll be here before we know it.” 

My exams would be brought to me by Tadaji Sensei. Dad had already arranged everything with the school, so that I could still graduate with all my classmates even though I was in here. Dad had already been bringing my school work every week. I didn’t complain, because it at least gave me something to do. 

“I’m scrambling around last minute trying to get accepted to university,” Ratsuii told me. “I wasn’t really planning on going, but with the band on hiatus for now I figured I might as well. I’m not sure what I’ll study yet though.” 

I frowned. The band was on hiatus because of me... yet something else I’d completely fucked up just by being a fuck up. I shifted uncomfortably, wanting to apologise but just not having the energy. 

They both looked at me. “Yamato, I can see what you’re thinking, and I’m telling you right now, it’s not your fault. So stop that train right now,” Taichi warned me. 

Ratz made an unhappy face at me. “He’s right, Yamato. I’m not blaming you for the band, or having to do university last minute. My mom’s been telling me for months that I shouldn’t rely solely on the band and apply to university anyway, and I kept putting it off. This isn’t your fault.” 

Except that it was, because all four us had originally decided together we wouldn’t go to university so we could focus entirely on the band, and hopefully make it to a major label. Now I was here and Kenji was gone. I wondered if Ny was going to university too now. Maybe he'd just dissolve the band. Hard to make music when you can't even look at your lead vocalist, and your drummer is no longer— 

I swallowed, hard, and turned my head away from them, to look out the window instead. There was another moment of awkward silence, and then Taichi spoke up again. “I think I’ll do well on my exams,” he said. “I’ve been studying. Hikari keeps teasing me about it, but I know my parents would be really upset if I didn’t pass.” 

I wondered what would happen if I didn't pass my exams. Would Dad get mad at me? I wondered if he was mad at me for having to be stuck in here. 

“I’ll think you’ll do fine. I’ve seen Koushiro and Mimi quizzing you at lunch.” 

“Yeah, we sort of formed a little study group I guess. It’s helped a lot though.” 

They fell silent again, the topic of school easily exhausted. I just looked at them, having nothing to say and no desire to find something. Taichi fidgeted in his seat uncomfortably. 

“Are you doing okay here?” Ratsuii asked suddenly. 

I shrugged at him. Even if I were talking, how could I answer that? I hated it here. I did stuff like eating on my own because it meant the staff left me alone more, not because I wanted to. Also because being fed through a tube was not a pleasant experience. 

“Your dad said you were doing a little better, even though you’re still not talking.” 

“He said you’ve been doing your schoolwork, and stopped fighting the staff,” Taichi chimed in. “That’s good, right? Maybe they’ll let you come home soon.” 

I just shrugged again. I didn’t think I’d get to go home anytime soon, and I didn’t really care. Home wasn’t any better. Ken had still abused me until I was broken. Kento and Sento had still attacked me and nearly killed me. I was still a shitty boyfriend to Taichi. Kenji was still— _fuck_. Why did I care about going home? 

The two of them continued to attempt small talk for a while longer, with no response from me other than the occasional bit of body language, until at last visiting hours were over and they had to leave. 

“Bye Yamato,” Ratsuii said. “I hope you feel better soon. Please don’t blame yourself.” He said the same thing every time he visited here and at home, perhaps hoping it would stick eventually and I'd believe it. So far, it hadn't, and I didn't. 

“We’ll be back week after next, okay?” Taichi said to me. I nodded at him. Then they left, and I was finally alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Instead of paying attention to my lecture in Applied Sociology today, I came up with scene ideas! Whoo. So here, have a [preview](http://fayth.altervista.org/lj/waiting/scenes.jpg) of them :D Can't say I'll write them all, but we'll see.


	3. Scene #3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Taichi's POV**
> 
> Set one day after the previous scene. (timeline date: saturday 30 april 2005)

"Taichi," Koushiro welcomed, letting me into his house. "Come in."

"Hey, Koushiro." I tried to muster up a smile for him as I followed him in, toeing off my shoes in exchange for slippers. It wasn't working too well—my visit with Yamato yesterday had left me feeling down, and even a night's sleep had done nothing to dispel that. I'd almost cancelled my plans with Koushiro, but my sister had practically tossed me out of the apartment, snapping at me to stop moping and go have fun for a few hours. 

He made his way to the kitchen, knowing by now I'd want food or drink when I came over, and I trailed after him, draping myself over one of his kitchen chairs dejectedly as I watched him dig through his cabinets for snacks. "What's bothering you?" he asked, glancing at me briefly, but before I could answer, his eyes caught on a calendar on the wall behind me, and the date clicked. "Oh, you went to visit Yamato again yesterday." 

"Yeah, Ratz and I did," I muttered. 

"It didn't go well?" 

I sighed and then groaned. "He wouldn't talk again." It was painful, having to see Yamato like that. He'd told me once that Ken had broken him, and I'd done my best to convince him that he wasn't, but now I was starting to wonder if he'd been right after all. It made me feel ashamed of myself—I didn't want to think that way about my boyfriend. I needed to have faith that he'd get through this, as he'd gotten through everything else life had thrown at him in the past several months. But I never thought that he'd wind up in a psychiatric hospital. 

"He's only been there a couple of weeks, yes? And he's been through several highly traumatic things these past months. At least now you're being allowed to visit him." 

"What's the point?" I muttered. "I thought when I could finally visit him that I'd be able to go and talk to him, hear how he's doing and all that, but instead it's just me and Ratz talking to each other. We could easily do that here, I might as well not even go!" 

Koushiro actually rolled his eyes at me as he headed past me into the living room, his arms full of snacks and drinks. "I refuse to be a part of your pity party," he stated in a no-nonsense tone. 

I was too confused to be insulted. "Huh?" 

He huffed in exasperation as I came in the room and settled down on the couch. He set down various bags and bottles, fussing with arranging them nicely. "Taichi, before you were allowed to visit him, what did you say every time you came over here and ranted?" 

"Uh..." I scratched at my head, trying to recall. I'd said a lot, as I was always frustrated and needing to let off steam. "That it wasn't fair I couldn't see him, that he was my boyfriend and I had a right, that I didn't understand why he had to be in the place anyway, that I just wanted to see him for myself and make sure... Oh." 

_"They could at least let me go for five minutes or something, just enough to see him real quick. I just want to see him for myself! I want to make sure he's okay, that he's at least physically healthy, he doesn't have to talk to me or anything like that, why won't they just let me see him?! It's not fair!"_

"Yes, oh. You're being given what you wished for, Taichi. I know it must be frustrating at times, given that you are so caring towards others, but perhaps you should remember to be thankful that you are even allowed such visits now. I don't know everything Yamato has experienced, but I am certain that he is where he needs to be currently. They can help him in ways that we cannot. I believe he will talk again. You must remain patient in the meantime, and appreciate the time you are given with him." 

I slumped down, letting my body sink into the cushions, feeling appropriately chastised as I listened to Koushiro. "You're right..." I sighed. "I _am_ thankful to be able to see him now, Koushiro, I really am. It's just..." I paused, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat. "It hurts to see him like this. It hurts to think about everything he's been through—what Ken did was bad enough, but then to be attacked by Kento's gang several times, _and_ lose one of his close friends? He shouldn't have had to go through _any_ of that, and every time I think about it I'm angry, but more than that, I'm _scared_." 

"Scared? Of what?" he asked me softly. The snacks were forgotten by this point, still in a partially messy pile, but I wasn't hungry anyway. 

I closed my eyes, trying in vain to keep the tears at bay. I wiped at my eyes in embarrassment, still keeping them closed as I answered. I didn't want to see Koushiro's face. "What if... what if he doesn't get better, Koushiro? What if this is how he's going to be from now on? What if everything broke him, and he has to stay in there for the rest of his life? Maybe it's selfish, but I don't want to lose him." 

"Statistics suggest—" he started, but to my surprise he then interrupted himself, his next few words shocking me so much I opened my eyes again. "No. Forget the statistics. Taichi, you know from past experience that Yamato is strong. I firmly believe that even all of this won't be enough to break him. He's only been there since the eighth, and already he's eating on his own again. From what you told me before, that's amazing progress. If he were truly broken, he would be as bad as the day he first went in. Yet he's _not_." 

"...I really hope you're right," was all I could manage to say as I scrubbed at yet more tears. 

"I'm always right," he said, and it was so matter-of-fact that I couldn't help but laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch the predicted chapter count keep climbing up as I keep writing more, hahaha...


	4. Scene #4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Taichi's POV**
> 
> Set at the beginning of Yamato's fourth week in the hospital. (timeline date: monday 02 may 2005)

"Yagami, stay after class, please," Tadaji Sensei called to me as the bell rang signalling the end of the school day. I nodded, and after packing up my stuff, remained seated while the rest of my classmates left the room, talking and laughing to each other about how their weekends had gone.

When the last stragglers had finally cleared out, I grabbed my bag and stood, approaching Tadaji Sensei's desk. "Yes, Sensei?" I asked politely, with just a hint of curiosity. I had no idea what the man would want to speak with me about. Now that Yamato was in the hospital, my work had been better than ever, as I'd been throwing myself into it as a form of distraction. And I hadn't done anything lately that would get me into trouble. Ever since Kento's gang had attacked Yamato and me, so many rumours had been flying around school about everything. Students I didn't even know and classmates alike were constantly trying to approach me and ask me about what happened, even during classes, but I'd been refusing to answer, keeping my head down and trying to pay attention to my teachers. 

I had to admit it was hard, though. Yamato was already so much on my mind, and my classmates always bringing him back up didn't help. Everyone was very curious about his absence, which I supposed I couldn't blame them for, but their curiosity continuously hammered home to me that he wasn't here because he was in a psychiatric hospital, and he was at the hospital because there was a good chance he'd finally been broken. Though I really shouldn't be thinking that way... Mr. Ishida had called me last night to tell me Yamato had finally showered on his own for the first time, after three weeks of being there. He'd sounded so happy about it, but all I could think was that neither of them should have ever been put in that position to celebrate such a simple action in the first place. 

" _Taichi_ ," Tadaji Sensei said, and I blinked, torn out of my thoughts. Looking at him, I had the feeling the man had been trying to get my attention for a couple of minutes now. 

"Sorry, Sensei," I said, as I felt my face heat up. 

He shook his head, dismissing it. "How have you been doing, Taichi?" 

"Sir?" I wasn't sure what, or why, he was asking. My teachers didn't usually ask after my well-being, although Tadaji Sensei was... different, with the way that he'd looked after Yamato some. "I'm fine, I guess..." 

"You've seemed very distracted in my class these last few weeks. I'm concerned about you," he said gently. 

"Sorry, Sensei," I repeated. "I'll try to pay more attention," I added. 

"I'm not worried about that. I'm concerned about how well you're holding up." 

I bit down on my lip, gnawing on it absently as I looked away from his knowing gaze. I wasn't sure how to answer him. I knew all the teachers were aware of Kento's attack on us, and of course why Yamato and Kenji weren't at school, and wouldn't be anymore. That much had made the news. And I also knew that Tadaji Sensei would be taking Yamato's exams to him at the hospital, when the time came for them. Mr. Ishida had asked me if he was a good teacher, when he'd arranged everything. But I doubted that he knew the details of Yamato's time in the hospital—it didn't really seem like something necessary for the school to know. "It's difficult," I finally answered. "Yamato's not doing too well." 

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, genuine sympathy in his voice. It made me feel better. At least one teacher cared. "And you, are you doing well?" 

I blinked. Hadn't I just answered that? 

He saw my confusion, and smiled slightly. "I know Yamato's well-being affects your well-being, but telling me how well he is doing is a deflection, and does not actually tell me how well _you_ are doing. For instance, Yamato's well-being has only minimal influence in how you are coping with the loss of your other friend." 

"I..." I was once again at a loss for what to say. He was right, after all. As I'd said to Mimi before, I still had a hard time feeling as if I had the right to talk about how hard things were for me. When asked how I was, it was easier to talk about how Yamato was doing instead. And I didn't want to think about everything that had happened, and how I was dealing with it. I really wasn't doing all that well. I had nightmares about the attack a lot, and though I'd never admit it to anyone, there were days where I'd get in the shower just so I could break down crying in private. I missed Yamato and Kenji both, and felt responsible for everything that had happened to them. My parents had found me a therapist and made me start seeing her, but I hadn't opened up to her much so far. It felt weird to pour out all my feelings to a complete stranger. I didn't know how other people did it, and I could understand now why Yamato never wanted to go. 

"It's okay to be having a hard time, or to admit to it," Tadaji Sensei told me kindly. "It doesn't make you a terrible person just because it's not always about Yamato." 

The warm compassion in his dark brown eyes nearly undid me. I could feel my eyes watering, and blinked rapidly as I swallowed hard, trying not to lose it. I did _not_ want to cry in front of my teacher, especially not one I respected so much. "I—I guess I'm not doing so well," I admitted softly, my shoulders slumping. "I miss them both. And it's hard to stop thinking about what happened. Even in classes, though I don't mean to." 

"I think all of your teachers understand your lack of attention lately. As long as your grades remain decent, we aren't too bothered by it. I know it can't be easy to make sense of all that happened. Talking to someone professional about it can often be beneficial," he said. "If you'd like, I can refer you to the school counselor." 

"I—no, thank you, I'm okay. My parents found someone for me to talk to," I told him. 

"I'm glad to hear that. But if you ever feel overwhelmed while you're at school and want to talk to someone immediately, the offer stands. And I'm available to listen as well, as I'm sure some of your other teachers also are." 

"Thank you," I said sincerely. I was touched by the entire conversation. I'm sure some of my other teachers _did_ care, but none of them had gone out of their way to check on me, or offer a listening ear if I needed it. "I'll keep it in mind," I added. 

"Very well," he said, giving me a brief smile. "You're dismissed then. Have a good evening." 

"Thank you. You too, Sensei," I said. I gave a quick bow goodbye, and then left to finally head home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just kind of posting these up whenever I feel like it. Haven't started a new scene since I finished the sixth one, though. I'm trying to be good and actually work on poor neglected _Endless Skies_.


	5. Scene #5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hiroaki's POV**
> 
> Set the day of Kenji's death. (timeline date: friday 18 March 2005)

"Ishida? Hiroaki? Is everything okay?"

I stared numbly at the now dead phone receiver in my hand for a moment, before raising my blank eyes to meet Chioka's concerned ones. "No," I said hollowly. "No, it's—it's Yamato." 

Chioka immediately looked worried, and stepped over to take the phone out of my hand and replace it on the hook. Most of the staff I worked with on a daily basis was aware of what had been going on with Yamato, and expressed concern for him often. "What is it?" he asked, then corrected himself. "Rather, how bad is it?" 

I took a shuddering breath and then shook my head, trying to snap myself out of the shock. I was still reeling from the news, and couldn't seem to process it fast enough. "He was attacked. He's been stabbed—again. It's critical... I need, I have to go. He's at the hospital, I have to see him, I have to take care of things, call his mom... He might not—might not—" 

"Fuck," he breathed, flinching badly at my last words. "Shit, Ishida, why are you still here?" he asked, shooing his hands at me. "Get out of here now, don't worry about anything, the other guys and I can take care of it. Go take care of your son." 

"Right," I nodded at him as I tripped over my words, my mind suddenly unable to stay calm and talk properly, "You're right, I'll call when I know something, I'll probably be out a few days, if Yamato doesn't, if he's okay—I'll call—" I reached down for my briefcase, shoving papers from my desk into it at random. I didn't know why, I didn't know what they were and I certainly wouldn't need them any time soon, but I found myself doing it just the same. When I couldn't stuff it full any further, I snapped it shut and grabbed my jacket from off the back of my chair, haphazardly shrugging it on. The orange I had neglected to eat at lunch got hastily jammed into my pocket, along with my cell. My keys I gripped tightly in the hand not holding my briefcase. 

"I'll call," I repeated to Chioka as I started making my way through the desks and out of the station. "I have to go." 

My mind was racing as I made my way to my car, wondering just what in the hell had _happened_. I hadn't been given much information. Yamato—and likely Taichi, I knew, they were so rarely apart these days—had been attacked a short distance from school, and Yamato had gotten stabbed and was now in critical condition at the hospital. No matter how many times I heard such news, it never got any easier. In fact, each time it seemed less and less real, because surely just once my son deserved a break from all the suffering inflicted on him by others? 

I fumbled with my keys, trying to fit the wrong one into the lock, cursing when I dropped them. Finally I managed to get the door open, and tossed my briefcase to the passenger seat before climbing in and starting the car. As I drove, I pulled my cell from my pocket, speed dialling Natsuko's number. Yamato would be upset that I was calling her, but she was his mother, and she deserved to know. No matter what he thought, I knew she loved him. 

"Hel—" 

"Natsuko," I said, cutting off her greeting. I had intended to keep going, to tell her what had happened, but the reality of everything hit me just then. My son was in the hospital with a serious stab wound yet _again_ , and this time it was bad enough that he might _die_. My worst fears were happening once more. I could lose Yamato. My throat tightened, and I could feel a sob building. 

"Hiroaki? What's wrong? Has something happened? Is it Yamato? Hiroaki!" Her frantic voice was loud in my ear, and I grimaced, pulling the phone away and adjusting the volume before raising it again. "Hiroaki! What's going on?" 

I swallowed hard. "I'm here," I said, and ran a stop sign. "Dammit. Hang on, I need to pull over." My mind was going in too many directions to focus on driving and talking—I was lucky there hadn't been any other cars going through the intersection. I hadn't been paying any attention. All I could think was that I might lose Yamato. Quickly I pulled the car into a nearby parking lot and threw it into park. "Okay," I said into the phone. 

"What's going on?" Natsuko repeated. "Is it Yamato?" 

"Yes," I said. "Natsuko, he's—" I could feel my throat tightening again, and took a deep breath, trying to stay calm enough to talk. People often described me as quiet and reserved, unflappable in a crisis and not given to panic or my emotions, but right now I felt like none of those things. I was dangerously close to completely breaking down. "He's in the hospital," I finally managed. "I don't know the details, just that there was a stab wound and it's serious. Bad, it's—he might—" 

_Calm, Ishida. You have to stay calm_ , I told myself. I tried again. "Natsuko, he might not make it." 

There was silence for a long moment, before she shakily choked out, "No." I could hear the tears in her voice, and a few of my own finally escaped me, though I held back from anything more. I had to keep it together long enough to get to the hospital. "Hiroaki, why is this happening again? Why does this keep happening to our son? He doesn't deserve any more pain!" She was sobbing now, and my heart ached to hear it. 

"I wish I knew," I said, feeling my chest tighten up this time. "I'm going to the hospital now, to find out more and be there when he gets out of surgery. You should be there too. Bring Takeru." I gave her the details, then we quickly said our goodbyes and hung up. I crammed my phone back into my pocket alongside the orange, and despite the sense of urgency I felt to get to the hospital, I remained idling in the parking lot a few moments longer, more tears snaking down my cheeks as I tried to bat back the fear of losing Yamato. He was my firstborn, my baby, one of the few things in my life I could be proud of—I couldn't bear to lose him. And he was so young, had been through so much already, he didn't deserve to lose his life yet. He still had so much left to experience. If he died— 

"Pull yourself together, Ishida," I murmured, squeezing my eyes shut in an attempt to stop the tears. "He isn't gone yet. He's strong. He'll make it." I scrubbed harshly at my face, wiping away the wetness. Then with another deep breath, I put the car into reverse and backed out of the parking lot.


	6. Scene #6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Yamato's POV**
> 
> Set nearly two weeks after Scene #1. (timeline date: friday 25 August 2005)

"She can call," I said abruptly.

"Hmm?" Dad looked up from his coffee, hair mussed, eyes bleary, and forehead crinkled. He was clearly still half-asleep, and I felt bad because it was my nightmare that had woken us both so early. And he had work later today, too. 

"She can call," I repeated. I'd talked about it a lot at my last several therapy sessions these past two weeks, and though I was still ambivalent about it, I'd decided that Natsuko at least deserved for me to give her a chance—I never really had throughout my life. 

"Who can call? And why?" 

Perhaps I should have waited until Dad had made it through his first mug... Well, it was too late now. I'd started this conversation, and I didn't want to back out of it. Mostly because I was afraid I might lose my nerve. "Natsuko." 

"Oh," Dad said. He took a sip of his coffee and then sat up straighter suddenly, my words apparently hitting him. " _Oh_." He blinked a few times, scrubbing a hand over his face, seemingly trying to wake up more. "Are you sure?" he asked me, looking directly at me. There was a solemn look on his face. "I don't want you to force yourself into this, or for you to get your mother's hopes up unfairly." 

I raised my eyes up, meeting his steadily. "I'm sure," I told him, with far more confidence than I actually felt. Then it wavered some. "I mean, I can't promise I'll say much... or that things will get fixed. But she can call." 

"Okay. I'll let her know then. Would today be okay, if she's able to?" 

I bit down on my lip, holding back my instinct to just say yes, and instead thought about what I would be comfortable with. My therapist had talked a lot about boundaries with me last time, and how I would need to practice re-establishing them with people I trusted after I'd had them violated so violently, both by Ken and the gang. It was harder for me to say no to things I was uncomfortable with now, simply because I was afraid of someone else hurting me if I did. Taichi had come up in that conversation too, about how I'd pushed myself into trying to go further with him before I was ready. I'd told myself that it was because I just wanted it to be normal, that I didn't want to be afraid of it hurting anymore, and that _was_ true, but deep down... deep down there'd been fear that Taichi would hurt me, too, if I'd told him no. I trusted Taichi, trusted him completely, and believed that he wouldn't hurt me, but I had once believed the same of Ken, so how could I _really_ be sure Taichi wouldn't do the same? I hadn't, _didn't_ want to acknowledge it, but I knew it was there, and it was at least part of the reason that I hadn't said no to him at the times when I'd first needed to. 

But as for Natsuko... What did I want from her right now? I didn't want a long, heart-felt conversation full of tears and apologies, not when I didn't even feel them. I didn't want to discuss everything that happened over the past several months. I didn't want to discuss my time in the hospital. I didn't want to discuss any of the past, or hear about how she'd cared for me still after moving away once my parents had divorced. But what did that leave me with? If she wanted to ask how I was doing now, today, if she didn't press too deeply I could safely answer that. I could talk about how I'd passed my exams for school. I could hear about Takeru was doing. That would all be safe, and something that I could handle today. 

"I have conditions," I finally answered. 

Dad didn't look too surprised by that, nodding at me. "Which are?" 

"I don't want to talk about the past. _Any_ of it," I said firmly. 

"I had expected that," Dad said, finishing off his coffee with one last large gulp. "Anything else?" 

"If I say I don't want to talk about something, she has to drop it immediately, no questions asked. If I want to hang up, I don't want her to keep trying to talk. I don't want any apologies, or anything emotional. Nothing heavy. If she's okay with that, she can call today." 

"I think she can agree to that." He got up from the table, placing his mug in the sink. "Is Taichi coming over later?" 

I shook my head. "Maybe tonight after my appointment, but he has classes most of the day." I was surprised when Taichi had told me he was going to university, but he had applied while I was still in the hospital, and since he didn't know what he wanted to do with his life yet, it made sense for him to go, as it gave him time to figure it out. I was proud of him though—he'd worked hard to get in, and he deserved it. Still, now that Dad was back to work, and Taichi in classes, it meant that I was alone in the apartment most days—something I still wasn't comfortable with. I probably needed to bring it up in therapy, but this was only the fourth day I'd be home alone, and I hadn't realised it would still affect me so much. I had so much less reason to be afraid now—all my abusers were locked up behind bars, and couldn't get to me. And yet, I couldn't shake the fear of not being safe when alone. 

"Oh yes, I forgot he started classes recently. Will you be alright here?" 

"I'll be fine," I said. Despite everything, I still found it hard to open up to him most of the time about how I was feeling. He'd worried enough over me, I hated to add to it. 

"Okay," he said, and headed down the hall to get ready for work. After he left sometime later, I stumbled back to my room, falling into my bed. The nightmares I'd had last night had been bad, bad like they'd regularly been a few months ago, probably brought on by the recent conversations I'd had in therapy. I'd woken both Dad and myself around five this morning by letting out a scream before trying to launch myself out of bed, once again getting tangled up in the sheets, though thankfully I didn't give myself a concussion this time. Wanting to rest now for a short while, I closed my eyes as I pulled my sheets up over me. 

I was pulled back into waking by the tinny noise of my cell ringing. Fumbling around on the table beside my bed, I finally found it and pulled it to me, flipping it open. "Hello?" I said groggily. 

"Yamato?" came Natsuko's hesitant voice, and I sat up immediately, all traces of sleepiness vanishing. In my only half-awake state, I had thought it was my dad calling me—I had completely forgotten Natsuko was supposed to be calling. 

"Yeah," I said, swallowing. I climbed out of my bed and made for the living room, where I curled up into the couch. I wasn't ready to have my room associated with a potentially bad phone call from Natsuko. 

"It's good to hear your voice," she said, and I tensed, worried she was about to get into the things I'd said I didn't want to discuss. "How are you doing?" she asked instead, and I relaxed again. 

"I'm fine," I said automatically, then sighed, knowing I'd have to give her a little more than that. It felt so awkward though. I was already uncomfortable discussing my emotions with the people I was close to, doing it with her just felt a hundred times worse. "Sleepy," I added. "I don't always sleep well." 

"That's understandable," she said quietly, "I'm sure it must be hard." 

"Yeah," I agreed, feeling my stomach clench. This conversation felt akin to navigating a field of land mines. I wanted to just hang up, to forget the whole idea and not deal with it, but something in me kept me from doing so. Instead, I gripped my phone tighter and waited for her to speak again. 

There was silence for a moment, where neither of us knew what to say. The past was off-limits, but the past was all we really had. I started to reconsider not hanging up. Clearly this had been a bad idea—it wasn't going to work. I took a breath, preparing to tell her I had to go, when she spoke. "How does it feel to not have school anymore?" 

I blinked, surprised by the question, but relieved by it just the same. I sank deeper into the cushions, slowly relaxing even more as I spoke. This was something relatively safe. I could pretend I was talking to Dad, or to Taichi. "It's nice to not have to wake so early all the time, or make sure I've got all my homework, or that my uniform is washed," I told her honestly. "I don't have to stay up late cramming for an exam, and I can have a nice lie-in if I want." 

She laughed softly, the melodic sound twisting my stomach up into knots. I hadn't heard her laugh in a long time... "Ah, the most important part of a day. A nice lie-in is always good to have," she said, a teasing lilt to her voice, and it left me wondering who this stranger was that I was talking to. Was this the woman that Takeru always got to talk to? She had never sounded like this with me. It hurt, but at the same time... had I ever given her the chance to sound like this? Could I have had this all along, if I hadn't been so stubborn and bitter? "Did you do well on your exams?" she continued on. 

I breathed out slowly, trying to get the tight pain in my chest to loosen. My heart was aching badly, so many confusing emotions overwhelming me suddenly, and I knew I couldn't take much more of this conversation. "I passed everything," I managed to grit out. 

"That's wonderful!" 

"Yeah. I—I have to go now, though." 

"Oh, alright then," she said, and I wasn't sure, but I thought that maybe her voice sounded a little sad. Before I would have dismissed it, written it off as my imagination, but now I was uncertain. The image of her crying in the hospital flashed in my mind again, and Dad's voice telling me that she cared echoed in my head. 

"You can call again if you want," I blurted out in a rush, before I could change my mind. "In a few days, maybe." 

"I'd like that," she said, and I knew I wasn't imagining the now hopeful tone this time. It made my heart ache even more. "Take care of yourself, Yamato." 

"I will," I said, and then flipped my phone shut to end the call, right before I started to silently cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one wound up being nearly 1900 words; Yamato had a lot to say. Also I started writing a seventh scene during downtime between classes this afternoon; it's not finished yet, but I probably will have it done in the next few days.


	7. Scene #7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Taichi's POV**
> 
> Set about a month and a week after Yamato gets out of the mental hospital. (timeline date: saturday 17 september 2005)

I laughed as I dashed into my apartment, grinning madly, Yamato right behind me. We both stood motionless in the entryway for a moment, large droplets of water dripping off every inch of us and forming little puddles on the floor. If my mom was home, she'd probably get mad at me for the mess, but luckily both of my parents and Hikari had gone out for dinner earlier, so Yamato and I would have the place to ourselves for the time being. We'd been at the park most of the afternoon while his dad was gone at work, and had been on our way home, just a few minutes from my building when a sudden rainstorm hit.

I finally looked over at him, laughing again as I caught sight of how bedraggled and pitiful he looked, though I knew I probably didn't look much better. "That came on suddenly, yeah?" 

"Yeah," he said, smiling slightly at me, before a shiver overtook him. I frowned, concerned. Though he'd been taking better care of himself since getting out of the hospital, and was eating regularly, he still didn't always eat _enough_ , so he was a lot thinner than he used to be, which meant he got chilled easily—he just didn't have enough body fat to keep warm. His immune system was also pretty tanked after all the starvation and stress he'd put it through over the last few months, and he'd only recently gotten over an extended cold... I didn't want him to get another one. 

"Want a towel to dry off with?" I asked, finally slipping out of my wet shoes. They made a funny squelching sound, which Yamato smirked at briefly before shivering again. "I'm getting you a towel," I said, not waiting for him to answer me. I pulled off my shirt as well, and left it in the entryway before darting through the rooms to the small closet by the bathroom, where I pulled out two large fluffy brown towels and brought them back, handing one over to Yamato. 

He took it with me from a thanks, and we spent a few moments towelling ourselves down. Unfortunately, a towel could only do so much, and Yamato's clothes were still soaked when he'd dried as much as he could manage. I wanted to offer to dry his clothes for him—my family had recently bought an actual dryer, and I was reasonably sure I could figure out how to work it—but I knew that without something to wear in the meantime, he wouldn't want to accept, and all my clothes were too small for him. Nor could we just pop over to his apartment instead, as in the ten minutes we'd been standing here, it had practically turned into a monsoon outside. I absently rubbed my towel over my hair as I pondered how to approach the subject. Though he hadn't said anything, I knew that he was still self-conscious of his older scars, and the likely new one he had courtesy of Sento. His behaviour told me as much—I'd still yet to see him in short sleeves since getting out of the hospital, despite the fading summer weather, and he never took his shirt off around me, no matter what we were doing. He often tensed up if he had reason to believe I wanted his shirt off the few times we'd made out, though I'd never asked him for it. He'd panic if any part of his shirt did ever raise up at any time, no matter what caused it. It hurt me to know that he was still so heavily ashamed of his scars, even around me. 

With all that in mind, I knew that no matter how I approached it, Yamato was going to get all tense and defensive and refuse me. I still had to try, though. "I'm going to throw my clothes in the dryer," I told him. "Want me to toss yours in as well?" 

As I had expected, he immediately tensed. "I'm fine," he said stiffly, wrapping his arms around himself protectively. 

"You're soaking wet and probably freezing," I pointed out. "You can't go home until the rain lets up, and you can't stay in those wet clothes in the meantime." 

"Taichi..." he said, warning in his tone, but it was slightly belied by the chattering of his teeth. 

I sighed, suddenly not willing to dance around the subject. "I know," I said softly. "I know you don't want me to see. I know you don't want _anyone_ to see. But there's no reason to be ashamed of them, Yamato. I promise you, I won't be disgusted or-put off. I've seen the older ones already, remember? They didn't bother me." 

"Taichi..." he said again, but this time there was a thickness to his voice that suggested he was on the edge of crying. My heart ached to hear it. "They're all so terrible. The new one..." He stopped, choking up as tears spilled over, splashing down his cheeks rapidly. He turned his face away from me, ashamed. 

I stepped over to him, wrapping my arms around his, hugging him tight. His shirt was getting my recently dried skin wet again, but I didn't care. I buried my face into the crook of his shoulder. "I don't care," I muttered. "Yamato, I don't care how they look, whether they're terrible or not, all I care about is that you _survived_ , that you're still here with me, that I didn't lose you. Okay? They could be the ugliest things in the world and to me they'd still be beautiful, because they represent just how strong you are, how amazing of a person you are to have lived through everything you did." 

His body shook with my words, and this time I knew it wasn't from the cold. "I'm not," he whispered. "I'm not strong. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't stop any of it." 

I took a breath and then exhaled slowly, trying to loosen the vice grip his heartbreaking words had on my chest. Even though he'd been in therapy for months now, it seemed he still had a lot to work through, and in the meantime it killed me that he was still blaming himself for all that had happened. I didn't know if his words just then were referring to Ken, or Kenji, or Kento and Sento—maybe all of it—but I knew it wasn't his fault. I didn't want to see him feel responsible for it anymore. 

"Yamato," I said gently, stepping back from him. I wanted him to look me in the face, but I knew he wouldn't, at least not yet. "I can't—I haven't experienced even a fraction of what you've been through, but..." I closed my eyes, shuddering as the memories drifted through my mind. I went to the living room, sinking down on to the sofa with a sigh before looking back over to him. He was standing there motionless, fists clenched at his sides and eyes shut tight as tears leaked out from them. "That day, that they attacked us... It was—I couldn't do anything either," I said lowly, haltingly. I had talked about this day plenty in my own therapy, and had come to accept that the events that had played out weren't my fault any more than they were Yamato's, but it was still hard to talk about. More so with Yamato, because neither of us had dared to bring it up between us since the night I'd told him what happened, in the hospital. 

"When I heard you scream, and I saw what Sento had done... I fought and I fought, but Tetsuya and Ayashi were holding me and I couldn't get free, I couldn't help you, couldn't save you, I couldn't _do_ anything." I fell silent for a minute, letting out a shaky breath and wiping at my eyes, which had grown wet while I talked. "And then, with—with Kenji—I tried, you know? To save him. He was dying, and I _tried_ , but I couldn't stop it." 

"Taichi—" 

"It's just, I can understand a little. About not being able to do anything and feeling so damn _helpless_ and wanting to blame yourself for it because you feel like you should have been able to do something, should have been able to stop those terrible things from happening. But I could have done a million things different that day and still ended up in the same place, because other people wanted certain things to happen and there was nothing I could do that would stop them. No matter how much it's felt like it at times, it wasn't my fault." I paused, wanting a brief moment for emphasis. "And it wasn't your fault, either." 

"You can't know." His voice was low and anguished, and tore at me. I swallowed heavily. 

"You're right. I can't know everything. I can't go down every path of what if and say with certainty that we'd still wind up here. But I don't want to go down those what-ifs, Yamato," I told him earnestly. I was repeating something similar to what my therapist had said to me, when I'd pulled my own what-ifs for ways I might have saved Kenji from dying, or Yamato from getting stabbed, and I could only hope it would eventually help Yamato as it had eventually helped me. "Those what-ifs, they'll only tear me apart. I can only look at the path we _did_ take, and I know it's not your fault. You were slumped against the wall with a stab wound that was slowly killing you, out of it and unaware of your surroundings. How could you have possibly done anything then, how could you have stopped things from happening? There was absolutely no way you could have—and that doesn't make you weak." 

I got up again, and went back over to him, placing my hands loosely on his shoulders as I looked him in the face. "You _are_ strong, I know you are. Do you remember, when they first surrounded us that day? You were going into a total panic attack, and yet when I saw you later, you'd clearly managed to bloody Kento up some. You fought through the panic, and you fought back. A weaker person wouldn't have done that." 

"It was you," he whispered, finally raising his tear-filled eyes to meet mine. 

I dropped my hands, took a step back. "What was me?" I asked him, not following. 

"When they separated us... I just lay there and took it, let them hurt me however they want. I was giving up. But then I heard you. You were screaming at one of them, cursing, and you sounded angry. You—I remember thinking that you hadn't given up, that you were still fighting, and suddenly I couldn't figure out why I wasn't fighting too. So I fought." 

"Yamato..." I reached out, taking him in my arms and pulling him to me, holding him tight. It was tempting, to place more blame on myself, to say that if Yamato hadn't heard me and fought back, he might not have gotten stabbed. But I'd just finished talking about not going down what-ifs, and I had to remind myself not to with this new information. I couldn't know, that was the whole point—he could have laid there unmoving, and Sento still might have stabbed him. I couldn't know. 

"I was so scared," I said. I could sense tears building again, and hid my head in his shoulder once more, feeling them begin to drip slowly down my face. "When I first saw you pass out, I was terrified you had died. And I finally got to you, and you were alive, but it was so bad, I thought you might not be for much longer if I didn't do something..." 

His own arms rose up to wrap around me in return, trembling, and I felt his head come to rest gently against mine, his cheek pressing into my rain-flattened hair. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. 

I curled my fingers into the back of his shirt as more tears wet my cheeks. "It was the most terrifying time of my life," I admitted softly. "I couldn't bear to think about losing you. If you had died, I would have too. So when I say that it doesn't matter to me what scars you have, or what they look like, I mean it. No matter what, they _are_ beautiful to me, maybe the most beautiful things in the world, because they mean that you lived long enough to even _have_ scars, and _that's_ what matters to me." 

"It's—it's hard. Even if you say that, I hate them, I hate seeing them, I hate the thought of you seeing them—" 

"I don't have to see them," I said, interrupting him before he could get too worked up. "Take your shirt and jeans off, I'll toss them in the dryer, but I won't look. Okay? I don't have to see them," I repeated. I let him go, grasped his hand instead, tugging at it. "Come on." 

"Wait, my shoes—" 

I waited patiently until he had them off, and then led him to my bedroom. I grabbed a spare blanket from my closet and set it on the bed for him. "You can wrap up in that once you're undressed," I said. "I'll be out in the hall. Toss your clothes out to me when you're done." 

I left the room then, shutting the door behind me. I stripped out of my jeans, making a face at how tight they'd gotten from getting soaked. Then I went and stood in the front of dryer, studying it for a bit before turning some knobs and praying I had it right. I heard my bedroom open briefly, and went to go get Yamato's clothes, adding them in with mine before turning the dryer on. I hoped twenty minutes would be enough. Back at my bedroom, I knocked on the door and waited for Yamato's voice to let me know it was okay before entering. Once I came in I had to smile a little at the sight before me. Yamato had curled up on his side on my bed, the blanket pulled tight around him so that his head was just barely sticking out of it. "There room on that bed for me?" I asked. 

He nodded his head jerkily, the movement restricted somewhat by his position. "Yeah," he said softly. 

I slid onto the bed, laying so that I was facing him, and pulled my sheet up to my waist. In only my boxers now, and still damp from the rain, I had become chilly. We lay quietly for awhile, and I wondered what he was thinking. We had both stopped crying by this point, but I was still feeling raw and ragged from how emotional I'd become earlier, and I figured Yamato probably was too. I wished he didn't feel so ashamed of his scars around me. I wanted him to understand that I'd meant every word I'd said, that I truly didn't care what they looked like, that they would always be beautiful to me just because of what they represented. "I love you," I said abruptly. 

"Love you too," he murmured in return. "Are you mad?" 

"No," I said simply, though in truth I had no idea what he thought I could possibly be mad at. 

We fell silent again, and I was content to just lay there, finding comfort in his presence, but suddenly he was yanking an arm out of the blanket, thrusting it in my face, almost smacking me in the nose with it. "Here," he said. 

I blinked, before scooting back and sitting up. I'd finally gotten a new bed this summer, so there was no longer any danger of me banging my head against the now non-existent top bunk. I took his arm gently, flipping it over so the scar was visible. It had been months since I'd seen it, and it was a lot less red and puffy now, though it was still thick and raised and darker, standing out starkly against the rest of his pale skin. I pressed a finger against it lightly, tracing the path of it, feeling how smooth the skin was. Yamato shuddered under my touch, and I stilled, giving him a concerned glance. "Sorry, did I hurt you?" 

"No," he said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. "It's fine." 

I nodded, and ran my finger over it again. The smoothness of it was an interesting feeling—it wasn't _truly_ smooth, there was still a bit of an uneven texture to it, but it was definitely smoother than the rest of his skin. It actually felt kind of pleasant, though I knew if I told Yamato that now, he'd only think I was being nice. I lifted his arm up, and, similar to what I'd done the last time he'd showed me, pressed a soft, gentle kiss against it, then a second, and a third, following along the length of the scar until I reached the end. "It's not ugly," I said softly. "It's not terrible." 

He watched me, his blue eyes solemn, giving me no hint of what he was thinking. He said nothing. I lowered his arm, and after a moment he pulled it back under the blankets. 

In the other room, the dryer buzzed, letting us know the clothes were done. I gave Yamato an uncertain look, worried about what was going through his mind, but when he still only watched me, I went to go check on our clothes. They were dry, and warm from the heat, making me grin. I loved this dryer. I pulled my jeans on but left my shirt off, and carried Yamato's clothes back to the bedroom, dumping them on top of him. "Nice and warm," I told him with a smile. I left again, wanting to give him some privacy, and decided to clean up the puddles we'd left in the entryway, using our towels to mop them up. 

Once I was done I returned to my bedroom, figuring Yamato would be dressed by then. However, when I went in, he was sitting up cross-legged in bed against the wall, in only his boxers, his clothes in a small pile beside him. He looked at me when I came in, tense all over, but he made no move to cover himself. I halted just past the doorway, uncertain. Was he letting me see? Or was he too embarrassed to react? "Yamato?" 

He stumbled over his words. "Y-you can—you can—it's okay, you, to see, me, I mean—" 

I met his eyes, deliberately avoiding the rest of his body, not wanting to look if he didn't really mean it. "I don't have to," I said. "I will, if you really want me to. But if you're not ready... Don't force yourself in to it." 

"I trust you." 

At that, I finally stepped closer to the bed, giving him another uncertain look before I settled myself down in front of him, also cross-legged. My eyes were immediately drawn to the marred skin on his side, but I left it alone for the moment, instead examining the scar on his left shoulder that I'd seen previously. It looked the same as last time, thin and pink with darker edges, sunken in to his skin some with an odd, shiny sheen to it. Slowly, so he could stop me if I wanted, I reached out and touched it, noting that it felt even smoother than the ones on his wrists. I ran my finger across it lightly several times, familiarising myself with it. Like the other one, I rather liked how it felt, though I still didn't dare say so right now. 

After a few more passes over it, I turned my attention to the scar on his right side. It was located just above his hip, and looked similar to the one on his shoulder, except that it was longer and wider, and rougher looking around the edges. I made a move to touch it, but he flinched away before I could. "It still aches a lot," he mumbled. 

I dropped my hand back into my lap. "I don't have to," I said. 

"Sorry." 

"There's nothing to be sorry for. Yamato... I promise you, none of these scars are ugly. How could they be? They're a part of you, and you certainly aren't ugly. You're beautiful, and so are your scars. I would gladly look at them all day long. They don't scare me, or disgust me." 

He was quiet for a moment, and then to my surprise he reached out and shoved at my left shoulder. "Since when did you become such a sap?" he muttered, looking away from me, but I caught the hint of red in his cheeks. 

"Since you needed me to," I said with grin as I got off the bed, finally putting my shirt on. "Same as how I got to be so smart with words," I added, referencing a conversation we'd had months ago. 

He turned back towards me, rolling his eyes before he plucked his shirt up and pulled it over his head, sharing time clearly over. "Incorrigible," he said. His tone was one of resignation, but I saw the smile on his face as he stretched his legs out and wriggled into his jeans. 

"That's why you love me!" 

"Yeah," he said softly, smiling at me this time. "I do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My original notes for this were going to be about how this was supposed to be a simple scar acceptance kink scene, and then Taichi wound up playing armchair psychologist and wouldn't stop talking and then it got to be ~3600 words and became more like a small ficlet. Which is all still true.
> 
> But I want to say now, that unfortunately I had to put one of my cats down yesterday, the one year old that's been sick the last couple of weeks, and there's this giant, empty hole in my chest that aches now. Usually when I'm grieving I turn to writing, but at the moment I mostly just feel like staying in bed and watching Netflix. So there may or may not be anything new from me for the next few weeks, it just depends on how I'm feeling. This isn't any sort of apology for that, just wanted to say what was going on so if I don't post anything new or respond to comments, the few of you here will know why.


End file.
